


Nuisance

by WKitsune_9240



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Established Relationship, Falling In Love, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Out Connor, Scared Jude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WKitsune_9240/pseuds/WKitsune_9240
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jude is your typical outcast, along with his girlfriend of six years. And on the first day of his senior year their relationship is tested when Taylor finally gain the courage to give Jude a piece of her mind, after seeing him practically drool over the new kid, Connor Stevens. Will Jude have the courage to defend himself? Did Connor really say that? Who ate the donut? Are you the father?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Love for You

Taylor is unnaturally cold, not really but it feels like it. Her kiss is cold, unpassionate, and fast, but familiar. After six years of kissing her he was sick of it. Sick of the lie. Yet I kiss on, my lips on hers, before moving to her neck. My hands on the small of her back, they move with my lips. Lower, gripping her ass.

Her hands move from the back of my neck to my chest, they move lower. As they reach the button of my pants I pull away. She knows that's farther than I’m willing to go, she knows that I want to wait.

Her eyes are distant, her lips pressed together. She swayed whispering, “So we should get going.” Her eyes move to the floor. She feels the distance between us growing like I do, I mean after six years of a one sided relationship I’d feel sorry if she didn’t.

“Yeah.” My voice is as distant as her eyes. Without another word we drive to her house, and I drop her off. I don’t walk her to the door, I don’t kiss her goodbye, all I do is copy her mumbled, “I love you.” Once it was true, we were best friends; but now it is just one of the lies we use to keep the ship floating.

When I get home cars litter the yard, the whole family is home. Even Mike and AJ. When I open the front door sixteen eyes fix on me. The smell of a pot roast linger in the air, potato's, and carrots and the rest of the fixings accompany.

“You’re late,” Comes the stern voice of his elder mother, Steph. 

“Sorry. Sorry, I was out with Taylor.” I hear sounds of annoyance, over the years they’ve become accustomed to that excuse.

“You know this thing is for you, right?” Brandon said, his voice clearly board.

“We’ve done this every year since Brandon’s senior year.” 

“Yes, and how many of those have you attended?” Mariana said, smiling. 

“Good point.” I smile along with her.

We eat, chatting about how my senior year will go. Soon we all play a game of Pictionary, like every year, then we all drift off. By ten only four of us remain at the house. The four who still live here; me, moms, and Mari.

“So how’s thing’s with Taylor?” Mari ask, painting my fingernails a dark blue. “She hasn’t been coming around as much lately.”

She’s right, so I just shrug. “She’s just been busy. With school starting.” Her hands slow, barely moving at all. Soon enough they start back again. Nonchalantly I change the subject, “So, have you watched the latest ep of Scandal?” She shakes her head, so we go on to talk about character development, plot lines that seem to have dropped, laughing at  how few were compared to Grey’s Anatomy. 

When we’re done I wear glossy blue nail polish, and a grey facemask; my longish hair pulled to my head with bobby pins. My sweats are old and fading, my shirt the same. Honestly, I look like a middle aged, stay at home, mom. Ear buds on, listening to the final chapters of  _ “One Man Guy” _ on audible. 

I fall asleep without even scraping off my mask.

At six in the morning I wake to my alarm blaring Taylor Swift's  _ “Wildest Dream.”  _ At six ten, I wake to the sound of Mari complaining about how the guy in the video isn’t nearly as hot as the guy in  _ “Blank Space.” _ I agree, but it’s not like I don’t look at the guys. I don’t. Not really. I don’t stare or anything. Well not for long. Just for a second. Yeah, I’ve look at the guys.

I turn off the alarm, tempted to throw my phone against the wall, obliterate it like I once saw in a back to school movie. It’s how the cool guy started his day, but I’m not the cool guy in my own story; that would be Ty -Taylor’s older brother.

I honestly don’t notice him like I notice the hot guys from the Swift videos. He’s a brute, way to buff and big. His skin even paler than mine, his hair a fire red. I don’t have anything against gingers, I mean I guess Taylor is hot, but his hair is putrid orange like their mother. He is hideous, not to mention his eyes are a muddy brown that a fish wouldn’t swim in.

Ty is popular, he is an idiot, and a sexist, homophobic, racist. I mean, even in South Carolina those are not good together. Very bad, you should hear the things he says about my family. He is a guy who is use to getting his way. He is like the antagonist in every -be that number so few- movie about a gay guy I’ve ever seen.

His followers just follow him, they think that if they do they will end up like him. Because, I mean who doesn’t want to be a nineteen year old junior in high school? Or what about the guy who got gonorrhea freshmen year?

I’m dressed is a loose t-shirt, fading blue, and dark jeans in five minutes. Teeth brushed and deodorant on. Hair draping over one eye slightly, not long enough to cover it completely.

Downstairs, I meet moms and Mari in the kitchen. A bright flash catching me off guard. Of course, this is how they make up for not getting a picture of me on my way to the junior prom last year. “Enough, enough!” I say after I hear several clicks of the camera. 

When the flashes subside I see Mari’s bright smile. “Our little man is starting his senior year!” She squeals, using the ‘our little man’ thing like Lena does when talking about me, but it feels different coming from her. 

Lena smiles behind her coffee mug, “They grow up so fast!” She exclaims in the way she always exclaims stuff about the family.

After a long breakfast, we all decide it best if I ride with mom. Or at least the girls at the table do, and I have no pull over the decision. Something about how when I drive myself I always come home to late, and that just wouldn’t fly on the first day of school. They will want to know everything. Mari actually made Lena promise that she wouldn’t ask me about school until we get home, something about, “Not wanting her reaction to be spoiled.”

\--------------

Her eyes tear as she walks the street, waiting for him to pull up. Her feet were sore from walking an hour in heels, but if she sat she wouldn’t want to get up when he came. She wouldn’t want to go to school today, she would stay home if not for appearances.

Finally the big black truck pulls up, and she gets in. “Well?” Came an angry voice from the driver's seat.

She starts to truly cry, not holding back. “T-they said that it’s real. Oh my God! Jude will kill me!”

A groan came from the man, “Jude’s a little bitch, he won’t do anything. Hell he’ll be happy, the fag.” Taylor’s heart sinks, she knew that Jude was… different, but she loved him. Not that he loves her the same, but he loves her in some way.

“Jude is my boyfriend.”  Taylor's voice was shaky, she felt weak.

**“He may be your boyfriend,” He says the word mockingly, “I am your man.” He takes her face in his hands and forcibly kiss her. **


	2. Back To School!

Sitting in the library isn’t really what you would expect of me, but yes, that is what I do. Or at least what I did. Here it’s just weird. Back home, at Anchor Beach, sitting in the library wasn’t out of wanting to. I was told to, Jay said that we should hang in the morning. That after school out sports would get in the way of maintaining the fundamentals of our tricky relationship.

Well, back home, the library is loud; full of the jocks wanting to get inside and seated. Here the library is vacant, and quiet and peaceful and for the first time since coming to this town I don’t mind how small it is. If I wasn’t in public or at school or scared that my eyes will be puffy I would cry. But all of those things are true. So I just sit.

I can’t even check out a book because I won’t get my school ID till later today, so I grab a magazine and absent mindedly flip through the pages. It’s not till I’ve flipped through half the large magazine that I even realize it’s Oprah. So I probably look like a weirdo looking through the article based mag like it’s playboy. Although Oprah is ok or her age, she’s not really my type, so I slow my pace and start to read the articles.

It’s not until I finally look up that I see that I’m no longer alone. I see a small group of guys standing by the computers, the screen shows that they are gamers. Not my clique, and if I’m being honest none of them even compare to Jay, not even the guy that could be his brother. With his light brown skin, and long legs.

I search for someone more my style, even though I hate it here so far that’s probably just due to the fact that in the last month the only person I’ve talked to in person is my mom. And out of that Jay’s voice mail. He doesn’t even have the balls to talk to me after tearing my heart from my chest and crushing it. I mean if only he had the courage to tell me, break up with me. I mean technically we’re still together, neither of us ended it. Although I assume that after I walk in on him with his cousin -second cousin twice removed, but still they were raised as if they were brothers! Disgusting- that our breakup was a silent, mutual agreement. 

I feel tears demanding to flow so I smile, a smile that is so forced that the tears stop. I almost laugh, an old trick I used when I was a kid, to keep from crying in public. It still works. Well that is until I look up and see eyes focused on me, I realize in an instant what I must look like, sitting in a corner laughing to myself. I stop, but the irony is I think it’s funny so I feel like I could laugh again.

I scan the room once more, a group of girls sit close together whispering; a group of guys in baggy close stand near the door. Although the room is quiet, I realise that there are about fifteen people in here. Yet it’s as quiet as if I was to be sitting alone in my room.

I started at the light and yet stern voice of a short, lightskin girl. “Hello.” Her word seem friendly, but there's an edge to her voice. Something familiar to my ears, she sounds like Jay did when he wanted something that he couldn’t get.

I look to her face and smile, “Hello.”

Her lips pull into a tight smile, “I’m Daria, Daria Wilcox.” I take a small outstretched hand, and shake it gingerly. When I don’t respond she barks, politely, “And you are?”

“Connor, Stevens.” She lets go of my hand, and I let it fall to the side.

“So,” She continues, “New kid, I bet. You should know that I’m Daria. My last name is Wilcox. I have influence here; lot’s of it. You stand with me, and you will have power.” I almost laugh.

“How long did it take you to memorize that?” Her smile disappears. “I don’t want power.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, I’m offering you a deal. Stand with me; be my boy. You won’t regret it. Don’t I will make your life a living hell.” 

“Wow. I thought girls like you were only in the movies.” Faking awe. She smiles, so I feel like I have to ruin her pride. I look down at her tight pink shirt, “It’s not Wednesday.” I turn around and gather my books. I’ll just wait outside.

At seven forty-five instructions for the mornings classic blare over an old speaker system. “At the Seven fifty bell, please report to Advisory. Please report to Advisory at the seven fifty bell.”


	3. Advisory

Advisory with Mrs. Numara was terrible, she was a terrible teacher in general but somehow she’s worse in advisory. She hands out papers weeks late, and rarely takes roll so she annoys other teacher, bugging them to know who from her advisory is absent. Honestly it’s quite absorbed.

Today her outfit spoke for itself, she was completely unprofessional. Her thick wool sweater hanging loosely on her thin frame. A puke yellow sweater is completely overdoing it, matching her hideous heels. She wore jeans that on anyone else would be tight, yet on her they looked like cargo pants.

Her large glasses magnify her eyes, and you can tell she’s judging us, as we judge her. Students trickle in over the next ten minutes. The class only had thirteen students at the end of last year, this being the class of transfer students over the years. I count post-it notes making our assigned seats, there are fourteen. It’s not rare that we get a new student, being that the whole class is made of us. All the transfers of the same class.

When the bell rings only three desk remain open, two brothers who I know moved away. And the new guy’s. Soon he walks in, a small glistening on his forehead -sweat. My heart skips a beat, his skin is sun kissed gold. His hair a hundred shades, from sandy blond to warm browns. He looks like what I would assume an erotica character would if real. Perfection.

He blushes warmly as Mrs. Numara scolds him for his tardiness. And how she was going to have to request a change in attendance from the attendance office. She wants to intimidate, but he was nearly a foot taller than her; as were most students in the school, even freshmen. After constant apologies from the guy she stops. “Have a seat.” She said, gesturing in the general direction of the desk.

He seat in a desk diagonal to mine, to the left. My eyes linger to his hair, perfectly fixed. As if he feels me staring he turns around. My eyes flick away not a moment too soon. His eyes, a golden hazel, fix on me. For a second I panic, quite aware of my arousal. And the blush in my checks. If he notices he doesn’t show it.

The twenty minutes of Advisory fly by, not really. They are painfully slow; listening to Mrs. Numara recite the first day announcements from memory, from all her years working here. She had passed out the school's rule book, and technology agreement, and textbook request form. I was so glad to leave that class that I couldn’t care less that my first period is Mr. Brans’ AP Calculus. I meet Taylor outside of Mr. Funderburk's room.

We walk to building four together, separating with a short, distant, kiss by Mr. Lumar’s French II class. I walk three doors down to my class, stopping dead in my tracks seeing the new kid. Man he’s hot and smart. I slowly cross the threshold, as the minute bell rings. “Mr. Foster, take seat _‘Two D’”_ As he says it, his eyes don't even come from his book page. I look at him, knowing that seat two d was right next to the new guy.

He looks up from his book, and stares. He lets out an audible huff, “The desk beside Mr. Stevens.” He sounds annoyed. I briskly make my way to the back of the class, ignoring the light snickers of my peers.

I sit quietly, barely moving a muscle other than my eyes. Which roam over the defined muscles of Stevens’ arm, which is half exposed from his rolled up flannel. “It’s not polite to stare.” Mr. Brans’ says to the class, although I knows that the statement is directed to me. Stevens gives an amused smile. And I blush. _It’s like he knew,_ my brain tells me, _Why would a guy let another guy stare? He was just smiling at the statement,_ I reason.

Brans lectures about the importance of math and school and our ability to comprehend change and whatever else Calculus is. He start on how calculus will look good on our transcript. How it’s way advance, before starting on the origin of Calculus like he’s a textbook. “The word calculus comes from the Latin word calculus.” His face brightens, like what he said was funny, but only to himself. “Meaning small pebble.” Brans young face is brighter than I’ve ever seen him, when I see him talking to mom.

At eight fifty six we leave the class two papers heavier; a syllabus and school email account info. I walk the hall three doors, stopping in front of Mr. Lumar’s room. And wait, soon enough the door opens, and Taylor is one of the first to step out.

We split in the main square. I move to history in the three hundred building, with Mrs. Garner. I step into the room, say a quick _‘Hi,’_ to one of my favorite teachers. Sitting in a desk in the front row, I wait for her usual lecture. It doesn’t come.

Well it does, but I can’t focus; for some reason. So when we leave the class with a syllabus, I don’t even know the purpose of this class.

\-----------------

She reaches for her phone, feeling it vibrate in her pocket. She looks down, away for the board. _‘Meet me at our spot.'_ the text reads. She gulps, raises her hand and waits to be called on. “May I use the restroom?” Dr. Walters waves her fingers, summoning Taylor to the front of the class.

Agenda book in hand, Taylor walks the halls of building four. Their ‘spot’ isn’t an exact place, but rather this building. She hears footsteps, and ducks into the girls bathroom. When the steps quite she walks calmly out. She see’s him by the steps at the far end of the hall.


	4. Jealous

Trying to focus to the teacher I lean forward, elbows on the desk. The teacher is young, strangely she’s asian, but teaching spanish. It’s different, not the weirdest teacher-subject combination I’ve ever seen, but still, her light mandarin accent makes the words sound surprisingly… foreign. 

Especially since, in third year spanish, we’re expected to be able to comprehend basic phrases. So she basically gives the whole morning lecture in spanish, which is already hard on me seeing as I probably said three spanish the whole summer break. But also because I can’t focus.

Well I do focus, just not on spanish; or Mrs. Kain, but on him. Not Jay, the him I was almost in tears over this morning. But him, you know, him. God I don’t even know his name, Mr. Brans said something like Foster, but that can’t be his first name. Can it? Honesty would I care. It doesn't matter anyway.

This year it’s just me, I vowed that I wouldn’t do anything I regret until I finished school. I mean look how the thing with Jay ended. I couldn’t bare that happening again, I could barely handle it them.  _ He might not even be gay _ , a voice in my head whispers.  _ Of course he is! Look at the way he stared at you!  _ I hold my thoughts, thinking this over.  _ You're the new guy, of course he was scaring at you. _

The two voices in my head battle until the bell rings, and the class rises. I walk the sidewalk, looking for building seven. I only see one to five, so I decided that it would be best to ask someone. I scan the crowds of students, over the crowd I see a redhead standing by the cafeteria, and approach cautiously.

“Hello.” I call, just a few steps away. She turns, having to look up slightly up to meet my face. 

“Hi,” She says, light and airy. She looks high, her eyes bloodshot. And as I step closer she smells the part. She smells like weed. And I instantly regret choosing her, she was probably just standing still because she can’t remember her schedule.

“Do you know where building seven is?” I ask, wanting to just go.

She nods, “It’s,” she turns, and perches on her toes. “Over there, last building on your right.” I mummer a thank you, and turn in the direction she pointed. I almost run into him.

We both mumble a ‘sorry,’ but before anything else could be said a hand was on his arm. The redhead was close to him; and before I could leave her lips are on his. Their kiss isn’t fiery like you would expect two people who kiss in a crowded areas would be. It tame, and it only last for a second.

A twig of jealousy tingles in me, I have no right to be jealous. I don’t even know his name. “Thank you,” I repeat with a nod of the head. I start to walk away.

Not five steps into my journey to building seven I hear a small voice call, “Hey!” I turn and she the girl looking at me, “Who’s class do you have?”

“Wilcox,” My voice just loud enough for the couple to hear. A smile creeps across her face. “Why?”

“She’s a bitch.” The guy says, and it sounds weird coming from him. He looks so innocent -even if the things I want to do with him aren't- and it just doesn’t seem like, ‘Bitch,’ would be in his vocabulary. “Wait for me. I have her too.”

I can’t move, he asked that I wait. So I wait, but I do look away. After a few seconds he’s at my side. And we walk in silence, awkward silence. Before we enter the classroom he turns to me, causing me to stop in my tracks. I look at him. “What’s your name?” He ask.

After a moment’s hesitation I reply, “Connor.” My voice comes out confused, and It sounds like a question.

He smiles a smile that could end wars, “You sure about that Connor?” I nod. “Good,” he continues, “I’m Jude.”

**I know his name, I am officially jealous. **


	5. Eros

I walk close to him. Almost to close. I want to walk to close, but alas I can’t. My feet won’t let me get any closer, because if I did I’d be in his personal space. His walk is tall and proud, but he keeps his head down. Avoiding something. Avoiding someone?

He walks at the pace I set, keeping in step. If I didn’t know better I’d say he had walked this path before. But I do know better, so I assume he’s just good at following.

We reach the building as the minute bell rings, and I walk a little more brisk. He copies, and soon enough we stand in the doorway to Mrs. Wilcox’s English class. In the corner sits Daria, and I know that something's off. You can’t be teached by your parent, so this must be her lunch. And of course she has to sit in her mom’s classroom with her friends during lunch; because, why not?

Her eyes shoot to me, and then Connor. A polite smile biting at her lips, all an act. Her smile is truly filled with venom. She’s a contrast to her mother, her light brown skin and dark hair look beautiful compared to the blotchy skin of her mom.

The bell rings and I step in the room, and wait, standing like everyone else. Soon enough, Mrs. Wilcox takes my place, standing in the door. A bright smile on her lips, she looks like an aged valley girl. She wears a pink blouse, and pastel skirt. She isn’t the most conventional dressed.

“Alright,” A fake southern accent dragged the word out. She stepped into the room, and moved over to her desk. She took out a red glitter pen, and grabbed a piece of computer paper. Quickly she scribbled several boxes. “Take a seat. Not on the back row.”

The desk were arranged in groups of two, and facing the old chalk board; instead of the projector. I to move to the second to last row, when I feel a light touch on my arm. It burned, not the bad kind of burn, but a good kind. I turn to see Connor standing to close. “Can I sit next to you?”

I nod, afraid my words wouldn’t come if I tried. I don’t know why this is happening, why my words would fail me. Or why my knees could go weak from this slight touch, or why it’s so warm. Almost as warm as when mom’s hug me.

“Where do you want to sit?” He asks, and I try my words.

“Um,” I test, and am reassured when some noise actually comes. “Back row.” And with that he nods, and follows me to the desks. After the class settles down, everyone seated in a desk, Mrs. Wilcox makes her rounds. She starts at the front, and goes the length of the class, scribbling the names of students.

Soon enough she gets to me, and I smile up at her, and say my name. “Jude Adams-Foster,” her head jerks up. She looks at me for a second, before taking Connors name. ‘Connor Stevens’ he says, politely.

“The new kid, right?” She looks at him with a smile that to anyone else would seem nice. He just nods. “I have heard so much about you!” She exclaims, and continues when she sees the confusions of his face, “I’m Daria's mom!” She says it like that would explain everything.

I almost burst out laughing when he asks, “Who?” In the corner I can practically see the blush in Daria’s cheeks. Wilcox presses her lips together, before turning away, walking to her desk at the other end of the class.

She puts the attendens in the system, and walks to the front of the room. She starts to speak in her high voice. I ignore her until I hear something that interests me, “一 who can tell me about eros in greek mythology?” She writes it on the board in yellow chalk. ‘eros’ Instantly I raise my hand. I’m not the only one to do so. “Danny?”

A girl with light brown hair stands, and in a voice that doesn’t fit her body she says, “Eros is the greek counterpart for the roman Cupid.”

“Correct,” Wilcox calls out, and gestures for her to sit. She was wrong, and it bugs me so much I stand. Winning the attention of Mrs. Wilcox. “Jude, sit down.” She says annoyed.

“Mrs. Wilcox, Danny's was wrong.” The class turns to me.

“Jude, sit down.”

“Well, really you were wrong.” This gets her full attention.

“What do you mean I’m wrong?” I can tell that she only ask because she wants to prove herself right.

“Danny is correct, Eros is a son of aridity and a counterpart of Cupid. But eros, who it is shown up there, with the common letter ‘E’ eros refers to a concept of love. Also know as desire, or lust.” I smile and take a seat.


	6. Helen

I sit silent, as does the rest of the class. It takes ten seconds for Mrs. Wilcox to regain her composer. I count the seconds, the tick-tock of the clock the only thing in mind, the only thing keeping me from smiling even wider. In the corner I see Daria working on her phone, probably trying to find someway to prove me wrong. I’m not wrong.

“Yes Mr. Foster, eros can be lust. But in this class we are to discuss Greek mythology; eros in Greek mythology is a love god.” She waits for me to reply, but she doesn’t want me to, I can tell. I do.

“Mrs. Wilcox, eros is not lust, it is the concept of lust. One of the four concepts of love, Eros, as you refer to him, is a god of love. They are the same, yes I suppose in a sense of the word ‘Same.’” I take a deep breath, “And what better way to depict eros than the concept? For, today in age, we do not believe in the old gods. We truly do not remember the old gods, I mean, there's still confusion as to whether Eros is the son of Aphrodite, or older than she, and is a primordial deity.

“I assume that we would be able, to imagine an old god, still youthful. Who if truth could be the son of true beauty and love, and blah, blah, blah. Or an elder brother to Nyx. It is unclear what he is. Why not talk of eros, a concept. Lust, something that, seeing as everyone in this room is a senior, has experienced.”

She stood silently. ‘Excellent point, yet as you may know I do not set the standards. Talk with your mother, maybe she could persuade the board to view Greek mythology as you do.” She smiled, and there were quiet noises from my peers. They think she has one. 

“Mrs. Wilcox,” She was erasing the writing from the board, and she almost breaks her neck at the sound of my voice. “The standards state that we are to learn of greek tragedies. Such as ‘Oedipus Rex,’ ‘Antigone,’ Medea,’ and my personal favorite, ‘The Iliad!’” I finish with a long sigh. “That is eros, accompanied with the concepts of, Timê, Nostos, and kleos. Those are what we should be learning.”

“You have read The Iliad?” She asks, for the first time in my four years as her student, I think she’s impressed.

“For my mother Thetis the goddess of silver feet tells me; I carry two sorts of destiny toward; the day of my death. Either; if I stay here and fight beside the city of the Trojans; my return home is gone, but my glory shall be everlasting; but if I return home to the beloved land of my fathers; the excellence of my glory is gone, but there will be a long life; left for me, and my end in death will not come to me quickly.” I quote. I sit. She doesn’t speak, but this time I know it’s because she’s impressed, my mission is complete.

To my right, Connor looks at me eyes wide. I see eyes of hazel, and honey, and gold, and pure beauty. I tame my smile, and whisper; “Partial eidetic memory. Greek stuff is one of my strong suits.” He blinks, and the few seconds of eye contact that made me feel warm is no longer.  The cold of the classroom hits me.

We sit the rest of class, most pairs talking, as they have known each other since the start of preschool. I see Daria staring at Connor, and know that he’s her target this year. I know what that means, Jesus was her target last year and I remember the disgusting sounds coming from his room across the hall when he thought that the house was asleep. I feel empty.

I feel empty, like I always do. I feel like when I kiss Taylor, nothing. I want to feel something, but what can you do? It’s not like Connor’s gay, or me for that matter. I may think he’s cute, but what does that have anything to do with it. I think Taylor’s cute, and puppies; that doesn’t mean I want to get into their pants.

Connor is different, I do want to get into his pant. And his boxers, the thing is, it’s his first day. I met him just today! I shouldn’t have these feelings, well I guess these feelings rule demisexual out the way -that is of course unless by Demisexual you are referring to Demi Lovato, bae can get it anytime.

I talk to Connor, I know what it’s like to be the new kid. “So, how you liking our small town?” I ask.

“It’s fine, nothing to do.” His answer is short, and simple. I look at him, and he looks at me. I don’t know why, we just do. I feel his stare, and it’s not unpleasant. 

It’s gone when Daria yells to the class, “Bye y'all!” At the C lunch bell. He doesn't stare again. Is it bad I want him to?

We both sit quietly until it’s time to go, the bell rings and I mutter, “Bye.” Gathering my stuff. I head to the library. When I see Taylor I rush to join her, I plant a kiss on her cheek, but she backs out of it. “Is everything alright?” I ask. She answers with a nod.

\------------

I jump at the sound of the dismissal bell; engulfed in my work. “Turn in your surveys in the basket,” The kind old man pulled a bin from under his desk. I start to pack, and make my way to the front. His eyes turn on me. “Mrs. Jamerson, may I have a word?” He says it like I have a choice, like a granddad would. 

He’s too much like his son, I know it's a demand. I stay back. “Mrs. Jamerson.” In the empty room, he says my name like a curse that burns his tongue. “I have heard of your situation.” 

‘Your,’ not ‘our’ or ‘my sons.’ He doesn’t care, he just doesn't want to admit his son's faults.

**“You have until friday to end it with that boy, or my son will be free of you. I wonder what would happen if you lost his son.” The smile that play at his lip is evil. I’ve seen it on the lips of his son. **


End file.
